The Mystery of You (Yet You're All I Know)
by Amiphobic
Summary: Crime-solving duos are common: Holmes and Watson, Rizzoli and Isles, Benson and Stabler. But Beale and Mitchell plan to give them a run for their money. After all, a former criminal fresh out of rehab, and a national glow-sticking competitor can only be a combination for success. Detective AU.
1. the world was on fire

**1. The World Was On Fire (And No One Would Save Me But You)**

_What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.  
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.  
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.  
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you._

* * *

Five. Yes, that's a good number. That's a _safe_ number. People often underestimate how important safety is in mathematics. "Is it a dangerous subject?" They ask mockingly. But she knows better. A slight mistake can be costly.

She watches the five officers in the department office mill around aimlessly, moving crates of files between desks. It also takes approximately five minutes (five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact) for the Captain to notice her.

"Mitchell?"

She waves half-heartedly.

"Get up."

It's been less than five seconds into meeting him and she already hates him. Might be a new record (but then she remembers that Bumper Allen has a one second record that no one's ever been able to beat).

"I tell the commissioner we need more hands on deck here, more funding, less cuts, and what does he give me?" The Captain looks her up and down once. "He gives me the Senator's washed up daughter."

"Glad to hear my reputation precedes me," Beca drawls, unaffected by his disappointment (story of her life really). But she feels obliged to give him the once over treatment as well; stubby nose, calloused fingers, broad shoulders, size ten feet and dark skin. She can tell he has a watch under his right sleeve, a cheap one at that, by the shape of the bulge around his wrist.

"Oh, don't glare at me," he says. "I've seen a million of your kind – privileged, lazy, entitled kids that turn to drugs and are just disinterested in life because you've had it so good all along."

"Darn, and here I was looking forward to swapping childhood stories with ya," she reins in the eye roll. It'd take less than ten seconds for her to just leave the building, and she can spot four escape routes before her attention is drawn back to the man in front of her.

The Captain sighs, a long and tired one, and Beca suspects she'll hear it many more times before the day is over. He extends a hand and grunts, "Jack Dunner."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Jack," Beca shakes his hand, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"That's Captain to you," he corrects, running his fingers through his cropped grey hair. "Thought I was too old to babysit, but I guess not."

At least he's making an effort to be clever, she acknowledges, which is more than she can say about the majority of the people in her life.

"I've assigned you to Lieutenant Parcell. He'll take it from here," Captain Dunner points in the direction of a taller and younger man with short slicked back blonde hair and a lean build. With that last note he limps back to his corner office, swiping a manila folder from a nearby desk on his way.

Beca approaches the Lieutenant casually, "Lieutenant Parcell?"

"Hello," he greets her with a pronounced British accent. He's kinda cute, Beca supposes. "You can call me Luke."

"Lieutenant Luke," Beca jokingly salutes. "Old dude assigned me to you."

"You the Senator's daughter?"

"My one claim to fame," she grimaces.

"Well, you know what your position here will be, right?" He leans over his desk to reach for her file. "You're only a probationary detective, so I'll assign you to shadow one of our officers."

"Sounds good."

"Beale," he barks over his shoulder.

A pale woman with light blue eyes and long red hair bounds over and returns his call with a clipped, "Lieutenant."

"Mitchell will be shadowing you for two weeks," Luke instructs. "She'll arrive at nine each morning, nine sharp mind you, and help you with your paperwork and patrol. Got it?"

"Sounds peachy," the woman – Beale – replies with a friendly smile.

Ugh. Her voice is so sweet it's sickening.

Luke turns to Beca, "After the two weeks, if everything's satisfactory, then we'll assign you a partner and you can begin your investigative training and work then."

"Peachy," Beca echoes.

Luke grins, "Not so bad after all, huh?"

Well, that's yet to be determined, Beca thinks as she sizes up the officer she'll be shadowing. Officer Beale doesn't even look strong enough to wrestle a little kid to the ground.

"My desk is over here," Office Beale walks over to the spot, Beca trailing behind her obediently. "Uhm, my partner's out on leave, he hurt himself last week, so you can take his chair."

Beca plops down on the office chair, the wheels squeaking in protest, and spins it around once. "So what's your deal?"

"Hm?"

Twirling one more time, Beca sets her foot on the ground, stopping the rotation and ignores the glares from the nearby officers. She leans across the table and points to a photograph, "Your boyfriend?"

"Brother."

Beca stands and pulls a silver watch out of her pocket, dangling it in front of the female officer. "This a family heirloom?"

Officer Beale's hand flies to her bare wrist. "How did you…?"

Easy. Too easy.

Letting the chains pool on the desk, Beca advises her, "Always be wary of people who stand too close to you."

"Well most people don't try and steal my things," the officer replies, snatching the watch back.

"Oh, silly me," Beca perches on the edge of the desk. "I haven't introduced myself properly." She extends a hand casually, "Beca Mitchell, kleptomaniac and eternal disappointment."

Officer Beale looks at her outstretched hand cautiously.

"Fast learner," Beca praises, and rescinds her arm.

"Chloe Beale," she responds, raising one eyebrow. "Glow-sticking champion and accidental one-time arsonist."

"Well, that's the first time someone's one-upped my fancy introduction," Beca acknowledges with a curt nod.

"I aim to please," Chloe smirks, and turns to her side of the desk. "We've got a patrol in half an hour, so go suit up."

Again, Beca salutes before heading to the locker rooms.

"Oh and Beca." The brunette twirls around, walking backwards. Chloe absentmindedly flips through her notebook. "Put the file back when you're done reading it or Luke will be pissed."

Beca gapes. She swore she'd been stealthy slipping the file up the back of her shirt.

A small smile plays on Chloe's face.

* * *

It's a fairly uneventful patrol, the afternoon quiet save for the occasional chirping of cardinals. There's a call in regarding a "disturbance" on the corner of Pickett and 4th, which sounds exciting. The ride there, Beca's foot taps up and down in anticipation.

"Don't get your hopes up," Chloe tells her, adjusting her uniform. "Most likely an elderly woman and a cat."

"I have no expectations," Beca fibs, forcing her foot to stop tapping.

* * *

Turns out Chloe's right.

She hands the old woman her fat tabby cat, "Here."

"Thank you, my dear," the old woman scratches behind the cat's ear. "You're a life saver!"

Beca is immediately suspicious, asking Chloe after the woman hobbles away, "You set that whole thing up, didn't you?"

"That would be illegal," Chloe says, "And pointless."

"Then how'd you know?"

Chloe slides back into the patrol car, "Tricks of the trade."

Rolling her eyes, Beca considers stealing the patrol car (a real trick of her trade).

* * *

It's morning, some part of her brain notes. The sunlight is bleeding through the edges of her closed eyes, burning yellow. Her mouth is dry, parched even, and it feels like she's slept on a rock. Beca hears the low humming of a lawn mower outside her window, the very noise that's roused her from her slumber. Sitting up slowly, Beca slides a hand along her neck, stretching.

_Shit…_

Well, Luke won't be happy about this.

_9:47 A.M._

* * *

"Nice of you to join us," Luke accosts her as she makes her way towards Chloe's work station.

"Had a meeting with my therapist," Beca lies, keeping her face as straight as possible.

"And I'm sure if I called her right now she would confirm it?"

Too easy. Beca takes out her out her phone and scrolls through her contact list, thumb pausing halfway down the list. "Call her if you don't believe me."

Luke looks at her phone suspiciously, no doubt wondering if she's bluffing or not. Beca looks at him, faking exasperation, as if really not caring whether or not he dials the number. Secretly, her heart is pounding with the deception, an echoing thud in each ear. Liars have tells, and she knows what her own is – clenching her fingers tightly into her palm – and resists it.

He sighs, "Since this is your second day on the job, I'll make an exception. Don't make a habit of being late."

"I'll tell my therapist no more morning meetings," Beca says, shrugging exaggeratedly.

"Go help Beale with the paperwork."

"Yes, Sir." She sounds about 0% sincere.

* * *

"Mitchell!"

Beca looks up from the complaint form she's currently reading. "Oh Captain, my Captain?"

"Like I haven't heard that one before," he snorts. "Get in here."

_Fuck. What have I done this time?_

But she still acquiesces to his demand and shuffles into his office. He gestures for her to sit and so she does, pinky slipping out quickly to swipe a mint from his desk.

"You were late today." The Captain's staring at her, his gaze hard and unmoving, as if expecting her to start spouting excuses. But no, she's not a teenager anymore; all that amateur behavior is long behind her. "Not the best first impression."

"Wasn't my first impression technically yesterday?"

His cheeks flush pink with anger, "Being mouthy will get you nowhere, young lady."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Maybe he let stuff like this fly when you were younger, but you're an adult now and-"

"I have responsibilities yada yada," Beca talks over him. "I need to realize that we all grow up at one point or another, I have to take care of myself and shit. Yeah, I know it's not good work etiquette, I won't be late again."

"Somehow I doubt that," the Captain says, his mouth curling into a challenging scowl.

"You know I was in rehab recently, Captain?" If there's anything Beca can't resist, it's a challenge, an issued question of her abilities.

Captain Dunner nods, crossing his arms, "Yeah, it's in your file."

"Then you also know I left before they considered my treatment complete," she continues.

"Yeah," his eyes dart to the wall, "Are you going somewhere with this?"

"I promised Mom I'd stop drinking and get clean, but my dear father forced me into rehab. Didn't need it, I made a promise to Mom, I was going to keep it, with or without help. They said my time wasn't up, that I couldn't possibly be ready, that I'd have a relapse in no time," Beca says. "I'm five months sober still." The Captain is still frowning, but she can't tell if it's out of annoyance or what. "So when I say I won't be late again, and I'm promising it to you now, believe me, I won't be."

"Your mom mean a lot to you?"

It's not the expected reaction, but Beca nods, "Well yeah, she's my mom."

"Get out of here then," Captain Dunner gestures to the door. "Don't make me regret believing you."

"You'll regret a lot of things concerning me, old man, but not this."

He simply waves it off.

"By the way, thanks for the mint."

* * *

Chloe drags her into the patrol car at around noon with exciting news, "I've been assigned to investigate a case for my friend since we're understaffed at the moment."

"A real case? Not a cat prowling in the bushes?" Beca just wants to be sure this time.

"A real case," Chloe confirms.

"Step on it then, woman."

"You're unusually eager," she notes.

Beca chuckles, "If I'm gonna have to go through this hellish experience, I'd like for it to be filled to the brim with intrigue and danger at the least."

Her partner looks quite curious, like she's itching to ask why Beca's being forced to get a job at the police station, but the moment passes.

"Hold on tight then."

* * *

"Bree!" Chloe greets her friend (at least, Beca assumes it's her friend) with an enthusiastic hug.

The woman, taller and blonde, turns to Beca with a neutral expression. "Is this your new partner?"

"She's just shadowing me for two weeks."

"Aubrey Posen," the woman introduces herself, polite and formal. Judging by her behavior and manners, Beca can tell from experience that she's been dragged to many a social event ever since she was young enough to behave.

"Beca Mitchell," she nods, discretely slipping a metal chain from a nearby shelf into her pocket. Yeah she doesn't need it, but neither does Aubrey, does she?

"Mitchell," Aubrey squints, "Like the Senator."

Fucking hell.

"Huh," Chloe tilts her head to the side. "What a coincidence. It would be funny if you ever met him."

Beca snorts, "Actually, I do know him. Pretty well actually."

It looks like Aubrey already understands the connection, but Chloe waits patiently for an explanation.

"Yah, he's my dad," Beca says, a little taken aback that Chloe doesn't already know (she must be the only one who doesn't). She's used to a range of reactions to this piece of knowledge, from, "Oh, that's cool," to a derisive snort, and everything in between.

Chloe's brow furrows and after a short pause she informs Beca, "His stances on foreign policy and immigration laws are awful."

Oh.

"Uh," Beca chuckles, unsure what to think. "Yeah, I'll talk to him about it." She's being sarcastic, but Chloe fails to pick up on that.

"Well, what seems to be the problem, Bree?"

Aubrey guides them into the living room of her spacious apartment, the windows spanning from ceiling to floor offering a fantastic lake view. "Have a seat, can I get you two anything to drink?"

"Nope, I'm good," Beca shakes her head, attempting to keep patient.

"A lemonade would be nice," her partner admits, obviously having no qualms about the speed of this investigation.

"Let's stick to the case," Beca interjects, unable to keep it in anymore, her leg shaking.

Although Aubrey seems to seem a bit miffed at the lost chance to play hostess, she still does as Beca suggests, "As Chloe knows, when I was in college I was part of Kappa Mu, the largest sorority at Atlas College. In the last year I was made sorority president, which was a controversial decision made by the previous leader. I won't get into it, it's a long story."

"We have time," Chloe says, settling her hand on Aubrey's gently, a reassuring touch.

Sighing, Aubrey says, "Well the short version is that another girl technically had seniority over me, but she had tattled on a few of our members in sophomore year. Because of that, I was given the position, but she was convinced it was because of my family's status." She looks away from Beca nervously, "We're kind of well off. But anyway, the president of the sorority is traditionally gifted a custom made silver pitch pipe from the previous president."

"Can I see this pitch pipe?"

"Well, that's the problem," Aubrey continues. "I discovered it was missing from my jewelry box just yesterday. And believe me, I know I didn't lose it. I don't lose things."

"Was there any sign of a break in?" Beca asks, although she already knows the answer – no.

"No."

"Who else has access to your apartment?" Chloe scribbles her answers in a small notebook.

Aubrey thinks for a moment, "My cleaning lady, Marie. No one else."

"Well there's not much we can do if there's no official proof of theft, right?" Beca offers to Chloe questioningly.

"The proof is one day it was there and the next day it was gone!" Aubrey's cheeks flush quickly with anger.

"Why is this so important?" Beca asks bluntly.

The blonde's eyes flash a cold blue, "It's not worth much monetarily, but it's literally the most important thing I own."

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Aubrey," Chloe stands suddenly, startling Beca. "I promise." The redhead is serious, her expression sincere, a quick transformation for Beca's eyes to behold.

"Thank you," Aubrey returns gratefully, letting loose a relieved exhale.

* * *

"There was no break in, Beale, there's nothing to report or investigate," Beca complains once they're back in the patrol car.

"Listen," Chloe says, her voice quiet. "This is important to Aubrey, and therefore important to me, okay? I know her. She wouldn't report something like this to the police unless she was _sure_ it was stolen."

"We can't take the case though, there's-"

"We'll say there was a clear break-in."

Beca pauses. "You want to lie about it?" She doesn't really care either way, but she had assumed Chloe was a by-the-rules type of gal.

"You can either spend the two weeks shadowing me looking into local cases of crazy kids and cats and old ladies, or we can look into a theft case. Isn't that sort of your area of expertise?"

Shrugging, Beca drawls, "I wouldn't want to brag."

"So?"

"Yeah okay, you got me. I'm in."

Chloe smirks and Beca feels a little less confident. It almost feels like Chloe is effortlessly playing her.

* * *

As promised, Beca arrives on time the next day(in fact, two minutes and four seconds early), much to Luke's approval. On the other hand, the Captain simply stares out his office door with a stony expression, as if still anticipating her to screw up.

It's no big deal, nothing she hasn't had before.

The day is filled with more paperwork, processing requests regarding past call-ins and false reporting. Beca cricks her neck back and forth at about three in the afternoon when Chloe hisses her name.

"Hm?"

"I got a suspect list for the Posen case," Chloe whispers conspiratorially as she pushes a slip of paper across the desk towards the brunette.

Beca reads her loopy handwriting silently.

_Mindy Smith – Sorority member who had been first in line for sorority president over Ms. Posen._

_Jillian Winters – Sorority president preceding Ms. Posen._

_Stacie Conrad – Sorority president succeeding Ms. Posen._

_Marie Sanchez – Ms. Posen's cleaning lady (and only other person with keys to Ms. Posen's residence)._

_Naomi Peters – Long time sorority rival to Ms. Posen._

It's a good start, Beca supposes. But she decides to ask, "Can we go back to Ms. Posen's apartment? I need to check something."

"Alright, I'll drop you off at Bree's place and then have a chat with Stacie Conrad (she's an acquaintance of mine)."

* * *

Nervously, Beca presses the buzzer to Aubrey's apartment number. It's quite obvious that the blonde doesn't care too much for her; she's invited into the apartment with an icy glare.

"Do you have a hairpin I can borrow?"

Aubrey arcs an eyebrow at her request, but replies after a moment, "I'll go get one."

As she stomps to the other side of her apartment, Beca squats down to eye level with the door lock, pulling out her lock pick set from her right combat boot. She opens the door midway and confirms that it is a normal deadbolt lock (something she noted yesterday). Running her fingers over the face of the lock, she feels several light scratch marks below and above the key hole.

"What are you doing?" Aubrey's voice comes from behind her, clipped and judging.

"Checking something," Beca replies, taking the offered hairpin in her right hand, quickly bending it into a hook like shape. She places her torsion wrench in carefully before fiddling about with the hairpin. "Well, bad news is someone's picked your lock."

Aubrey's still calm, "And the good news?"

"He or she is an amateur at it."

"Thank God," Aubrey states dully and insincerely.

"I'll take that title," Beca smiles cockily.

* * *

"Hey Stacie!"

Stacie Conrad, tall brunette bombshell, wraps her in an excited hug, her leg flying upwards and half curling around Chloe's. "I think your boobs have gotten bigger."

With a mock gasp, Chloe hits her shoulder playfully, "I didn't ask you here to be felt up."

"You're right, that's more something Aubrey would do," Stacie agrees, tossing her purse to the ground casually before taking a seat, hooking her right leg over her left.

Chloe chuckles, "We've talked about this before. What goes on in your bedroom, stays th-"

"How is Aubrey?"

"She's good," Chloe sips her iced tea, wondering how much she should reveal.

"Still have that rack of God?"

Grimacing, Chloe shakes her head, "Ew, no, Stacie. My best friend."

With a wistful sigh, Stacie moves on from that topic (although her mind never strays far from it, Chloe knows), "Well, what did you want to ask me?"

"One of Aubrey's possessions has gone missing, do you know anything about this?" Upon seeing Stacie's bemused expression, Chloe continues on, "Standard procedure, I can't skip over you because you're my friend."

"Hm," Stacie nods. "Well, I haven't seen Aubrey in over two months and I don't know where she lives or what bank she keeps her stuff in."

"Thanks anyway," Chloe smiles, and leaves ten dollars on the table. "Treat yourself."

"Cheers!" One of the waiters passes by, his gaze lingering on Stacie even as he walks towards the door, nearly running into a waitress. Noticing his attention, Stacie sends a wink in his direction. He crashes into a table.

Chloe watches the display and shakes her head. Some things never change.

"She still misses you, you know," she decides to tell Stacie, who looks back at her, surprised. There's a moment where her eyes become thoughtful and quiet, but it quickly passes.

"Well the sex was fantastic." Classic Stacie move, deflection with a sexual remark. But Chloe knows better than to believe it's only about the physical to the brunette.

"Catch you later, Stacie," she kisses Stacie's cheek.

* * *

Before Beca calls Chloe to check up on her, she stops by the doorman's desk.

"You the doorman, yeah?"

He nods, his curly brown hair flopping to the side as he adjusts his name tag. _Benjamin._

"Are you vigilant in your duties?"

"Of course, m'am," he replies politely.

Quirking her head to the side, Beca informs him, "Well a woman just went through the door and you didn't ask her for identification."

Without even looking, Benjamin the doorman says, "That was Mrs. Sweeney from apartment 309."

"How about the two people who entered before I did, about say, half an hour ago? One was wearing a blue Mariner's cap and the other had a yellow polo shirt on."

"Jorge from apartment 710 and his secret boyfriend Norman."

"Impressive," Beca remarks.

"I remember faces and names easily," he looks down bashfully, embarrassed by her compliment.

"What's your full name, Benjamin?"

"Uhm well, you can call me Benji Applebaum," he offers, eyes lighting up at her softer tone.

Beca flips through her file before pulling out a photo of the cleaning lady, Marie. "You know this woman?"

"That's Ms. Sanchez, Ms. Posen's cleaner."

"Was she here on Wednesday?"

"Yes, she came in an hour late," Benji recalls. "I remember because she was nearly in tears."

"Thanks buddy," Beca says, filing the photo away. "Give me your number."

He stammers, but obeys without questioning.

* * *

"How'd it go with suspect number one?" Beca slides into the passenger seat nonchalantly, the sky darkening already.

Chloe hums, "It's definitely not her, she just got back this morning from a trip to L.A. and hasn't spoken or seen Aubrey in two months."

"You can cross out the cleaner too."

"Oh?"

Beca nods, and stares out the window, her fingers drumming rhythmically on her knee, "You were right though. This is a theft."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Not particularly."

At that, Chloe signals right and pulls over by the side of the road.

"What?"

She turns to regard Beca, frustrated, "We're partners, Beca, and as your other half I don't want to be kept in the dark! How do I know that I can take Marie Sanchez out of consideration? This sort of information is vital to the investigation."

"Like you say, we're partners," Beca sighs, crossing her legs dramatically. "Just trust me on this. If there's something I need to tell you, you'll be told."

Chloe looks at her for a long beat, lips tightened in a thin line. "Okay." She relents and signals left, pulling back onto the road. "Okay."

Truth be told, Beca's a tiny bit surprised (just a tiny bit, but enough for her fingers to still against her knee). She's a con artist; no one has trusted her in a long time with anything. She'd almost forgotten what it felt like. It's nothing, she decides, her fingers tapping against the arm rest now.

Unconsciously, she begins to mumble under her breath.

* * *

Six minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Chloe pulls up in front of the address Beca's told her to drop her off at. Chloe peers out the driver's window at the dark little shack. It's clear she's dying to know why Beca's requested to be dropped off here, but she keeps her mouth shut anyway.

Beca slams the car door and waves a casual farewell. Only when the car is out of sight does Beca march over to the shack, knocking on the door (two taps, a pause, then three more). A small wooden slat slides open and bright glinting eyes shine out from the gap, looking at her menacingly.

She waves cheekily.

"Snake," he grunts into his walkie-talkie.

There's static and no clear response, but the man behind the door unhooks the latch and lets her in.

"Thanks, Grizzly."

* * *

"Bumper," she acknowledges as he dismisses the girl on his lap with a light spank on her butt.

Bumper cocks an eyebrow at her, "Thought they put you away."

"I'm out now," Beca shrugs, refusing to say anymore. "Got a question for ya."

"Oh, something the Senator's daughter doesn't know and I do? What has the world come to?"

"Know any of these girls?" Ignoring his remarks, Beca tosses a folder at him, which he catches reflexively.

"And why should I do this for you?" Bumper looks at her expectantly.

God, she's not here to waste time. Beca narrows her eyes, "Because that's what we do. Help each other."

"You're in with the cops now, aren't you?" When she doesn't answer, he points to the window, "Saw the patrol car."

"And?" She challenges.

"You'll owe me something," he says.

"I got your dick out of that girl's tongue ring that one time," Beca reminds him. "I think you owe me for life."

Bumper glares at her (he hates being reminded of that incident, almost as much as she hates being called the Senator's daughter) and finally decides to open the file. "Oh, there's Mimi."

She plops down on the couch next to him, just like old times, and looks at the girl he's pointing at.

"Naomi," he quickly corrects. "Yeah she's a real favorite with the older men."

Beca makes a face, her distaste of his operations coming back twofold. "Call her up for me."

"Right now?"

"Hurry up, dipshit," she sighs.

Taking out his phone, Bumper scrolls through his infinite contact list before dialing a particular number. "Go for it."

It rings three times before a tired voice picks up. "_Bump_?"

"Yeah, I have a friend who wants to talk to you 'bout something," he says, turning to Beca, and handing the phone to her.

"_You a working man? Imagine coming home after a long day at work and I'm standing there all _hot _and ready for your-"_

"No, not for phone sex," Beca states adamantly, shooting the smirking Bumper a mean look.

"_Oh, whaddya want then?_" Naomi's voice changes from sultry to annoyed in two seconds flat.

"You remember a girl from your college sorority named Aubrey Posen?"

"_Oh yeah, dry-cunt-Posen, who doesn't?_"

Beca snorts at the nickname, but remembers her purpose, "Steal anything from her lately?"

"_What? You gotta be kiddin' me, I haven't seen her since I dropped out senior year. Only thing I'd wanna steal from her is that stick up her ass_."

"You sure?"

"_Lady, you're Bump's friend, ya?"_

"Sometimes we might be called that," Beca responds neutrally as Bumper guffaws.

"_I wouldn't lie to ya then. Don't hold a grudge against anyone from Kappa Mu no more."_

"Then who would?"

There's a crackling sound from the other side before Naomi answers, "_Prolly Mindy. Ya know she went crazy after Posen got made president? Dumped her boyfriend, started failing her classes, she went off the deep end really. I'd talk to Mindy if I were you, lady."_

"Okay," Beca says. "Thanks, Naomi."

"_Mimi," _the woman corrects her. "_Naomi don't exist anymore to me_."

* * *

She's dreaming of floating cakes and kittens (which is actually not a typical thing for her) when she's woken rudely. Chloe's eyes open blearily as the incessant ringing of her phone pierces her hearing. What is going on? She grasps around for her phone, the screen lit up.

_Beca? At this hour?_

"Hullo?"

The person calling her has a voice so sarcastic and lazy that it can only be Beca. "_Morning, Princess. Took you long enough to answer_."

"Well, I don't normally take calls at," Chloe looks at the time on her phone, "4 A.M. Especially not on Saturdays."

"_Yeah well, you can cross Naomi Peters off your list_," Beca sounds so damn sure of herself that Chloe finds herself believing the conviction.

"Why?"

Chloe hears a snort over the line, "_We went over this already, C."_

Stifling a yawn, Chloe decides she can't be bothered to respond to that and hangs up. She tosses her phone to the other side of her bed and promptly falls asleep once more.

* * *

When it's finally a decent time to actually be awake, Chloe pads into the kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal. Crunching down on the flakes and nuts, she sifts through the newspaper, looking for interesting headlines and articles. At about 8:30, she dons her trusty uniform and navigates her way to the station.

"Fucking rude to hang up on me like that," Beca says as she takes her seat in the passenger's side of the patrol car.

"We've got a suspect to interrogate," Chloe talks over her. "Buckle up."

"Thanks, Mom."

"No problem, sweetie," Chloe replies without pause, and ruffles Beca's hair enthusiastically much to the brunette's displeasure.

"That is not okay," Beca says indignantly, flattening her hair down with one hand and flipping Chloe off with the other.

Amused, Chloe laughs, "No? Neither is interrupting my beauty sleep."

Point taken.

* * *

"Hey Mindy, long time no see!"

The suspect, Mindy Smith, has long brown hair and softer brown eyes, and is a little taller than Chloe and thinner too. Beca quickly scribbles her basic information down on a notepad. Chloe presses a brief kiss on Mindy's right cheek and Mindy does the same to Chloe's cheek. She is visibly nervous, Beca notes.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I'm incredibly thirsty. Is it possible I could have a glass of water?" Chloe asks, one hand held to her throat.

Mindy nods and says, "Of course." Her voice trembles.

The moment Mindy leaves the room, Chloe tugs on Beca's sleeve and whispers into her ear, "When she gets back, ask to go to the bathroom. Look for her planner, take pictures of all the days of this month. I'll give you five minutes."

Beca replies, "Yah, sure, Chief. Exactly five minutes?"

"Not a second over."

Good. Five is a safe number.

As Mindy comes back, Chloe laughs (too high pitched for it to be natural), "We're just here investigating a nearby robbery. I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?"

Well, look at that, Beca thinks, not too bad a liar after all.

* * *

Four minutes and thirty-seven seconds later, Beca sits back down next to Chloe with the most casual expression she can manage. Jesus Christ, who stores their planner inside their file cabinet? Mindy's demeanor has dramatically changed from nervous and twitchy to chatty and amicable. Beca eyes Chloe suspiciously.

"Well, I'm glad things worked out so well for you, Mindy," Chloe smiles, so genuine that Beca almost believes it. The redhead rests a comforting hand on Mindy's knee. "Thank you for taking the time to talk with us, but we still have to question the rest of your neighbors."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Silly me, just blathering on and on," Mindy says, her hand held over her chest.

"No worries," Chloe gives her a farewell hug. "Thanks for the tea."

* * *

"Look through your photos for a meeting with someone named Brandon Childs," Chloe instructs Beca the moment they enter the patrol car, doors swinging shut at the same time.

"She met with him Monday," Beca reads from her phone. "For dinner."

Chloe buckles her seat belt and says, "That's him. He's the one who stole the pitch pipe."

"What?" Beca gapes. "Did Mindy say that?"

"Trust me," Chloe echoes, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

"Yeah, no, it doesn't work that way."

"Well, fill me in on the details you've been neglecting to tell me and maybe I'll tell you."

"Maybe you'll tell me," Beca deadpans.

"Maybe."

"Ugh, okay what do you want to know?"

Making a sharp right turn, Chloe pulls into an empty parking lot and parks. "Why you decided Marie Sanchez wasn't a suspect."

"Doorman said she'd been an hour late that day. Also, Aubrey's lock was picked, but Marie has a key, so obviously not her."

"How'd you know her lock was picked?"

Beca sighs, "Scratches on the face of the lock and the pins were harder to push up."

Nodding, Chloe continues, "And why not Naomi Peters?"

"I…" The brunette pauses, "I actually can't tell you that one."

"Beca," Chloe's tone is warning.

"No, I actually can't tell you," Beca says, looking away, biting the tip of her thumb. "But believe me, it's not her."

"Fine," Chloe acquiesces. "That's good enough I suppose."

"Okay, so why do you think it's this Brandon dude?"

"That's Mindy's ex-boyfriend," Chloe explains. "She dumped him after she lost the sorority presidency to Aubrey. When I asked Mindy about him, she seemed a little nervous, more so than when we were just talking about burglaries. I don't know, I just have this hunch that it's him. You ever have that feeling? Like you just might know something?"

"No…" Beca's voice trails off as she squints at Chloe. "I either know something or I don't."

"Well she told me Brandon just broke up with his girlfriend recently and got back in touch with her, reminiscing about their college dating days. Said he works with UPS now."

"So?"

"I think she knows he stole it," Chloe says. "I think Brandon must've thought he could've started a life with Mindy had Aubrey not stolen her presidency. I think the pitch pipe is symbolic to him; when Mindy lost the pitch pipe, he lost her. So his most recent girlfriend breaking up with him must've been the last straw. Brandon probably thought that he'd never do better than Mindy, and so he stole the pitch pipe and presented it to Mindy, thinking he would regain her. He probably was able to get into the building under the guise that he was delivering a package."

"I don't know, Chloe," Beca's not convinced. "It sounds like you're reaching."

Quirking her mouth, Chloe says, "Okay, well you said Marie Sanchez was an hour late?"

"Yes."

Chloe pulls the file out of the side pocket of the vehicle and flips it open to Marie's page. "I'll call her and ask her why."

_Ring. Ring. Ring._

"_Hello, Marie Sanchez speaking."_

"Marie, hi! This is Chloe Beale, Ms. Posen's friend."

"_Ah, Chloe! Yes, yes, I remember. How are you, dear?_"

"Quite well," Chloe smiles even though the other woman can't see her. "And yourself?"

"_Oh, I am okay. It is terrible news to hear about the burglary at Ms. Posen's apartment though."_

"About that," Chloe starts, "You were an hour late that day, correct? Could you tell me why?"

Marie titters in embarrassment, "_Ah, I got a call from a nice young man the day before asking for my cleaning services. He told me his address, but I must've heard him wrong because it was someone else's house. The traffic was so bad on the way back that I ended up being late."_

"Could you give me this nice young man's number?"

"_Oh, he never gave me his number._"

Chloe's brow furrows, "It would show in your recent calls list."

"_Oh yes, here it is. Sorry, my dear, I am so bad with phones._"

"No problem," Chloe says brightly as Beca manages to smother her snickers.

"_It is (312)-765-1100."_

"Thank you, Ms. Sanchez."

"_Oh any time._"

As Chloe hangs up, she shifts through the file and pulls out a new sheet of paper Beca hasn't seen before. It has Brandon's information and his phone number matches the phone Ms. Sanchez has given them exactly.

"Believe me now?"

"I am sorry to say I do," Beca huffs.

"A warrant will take ages though," Chloe muses.

For the first time ever, Beca's thankful to her father, "Well, being the daughter of the Senator has a few perks, ya know?"

* * *

Chloe strides to the door so fast that Beca has to jog to keep up. After two firm knocks on the door, Chloe takes a step back. A few moments later, a man with dirty blonde hair and light green eyes opens the door.

"Good evening, Mr. Childs," Chloe smiles, a strained one Beca realizes.

"Good evening," he answers hesitantly. "How can I help you ladies?"

"Just need you to answer a few questions," Chloe says, making a quick gesture asking if she can enter.

"Come in," he says, stepping out of the way for Beca and Chloe. "Please excuse the mess, I've just been very busy the past-"

As Brandon takes a seat in the living room, Chloe interrupts him midsentence and says, "Just one question actually, Brandon."

"Yes?"

"Did you really think stealing Aubrey's pitch pipe would help you win Mindy back after all this time?"

His face goes red as he sputters, "Wh- What? I- I don't- what are you-?"

"Well?"

The vein in his forehead is sticking out magnificently, Beca thinks. He swallows his fear and replies, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do," Chloe responds. "You used your day job as a UPS delivery man to get into Aubrey's building and stalled Marie Sanchez' arrival by calling for her cleaning services and then you sent her to the address of someone else, far away, through heavy traffic. You then proceeded to pick Aubrey's lock and found the pitch pipe in her jewelry box. Tell me which part is wrong."

"All of it!" He says indignantly. "I never did any of that. I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're no longer welcome here."

"We have a warrant to search your place, Brandon," Chloe informs him, pulling a sheet of paper from her pocket and unfolding it. "You don't mind if we look upstairs, do you?"

His face is purple and it looks like he's about to bolt. "Beca, why don't you go retrieve Mr. Brandon's belongings while I make sure he doesn't try any funny business?"

Beca heads up the stairs two at a time and as per Chloe's previous instructions, looks through the rooms for UPS boxes. At the last room she finds three boxes stacked neatly on top of one another. Opening the first one reveals a locked metal box, which Beca takes out carefully.

Hm, no keys around here. She takes out her trusty lock picking kit once more and makes quick work of it, taking a total of three minutes and two seconds. Opening the lid, Beca is almost surprised to see the silver pitch pipe, exactly as it looked in the picture Aubrey showed them, nestled inside.

When she arrives back downstairs (slightly worried that Brandon might try and assault her partner), she finds a startling sight. Brandon is squatting on the ground, his face buried in his hands as he rocks back and forth slightly. Chloe is patting his back comfortingly.

"Uhm, well, the pitch pipe is in here," Beca says awkwardly.

"Mr. Childs will be accompanying us to the station," Chloe tells her, looking up with an even expression.

"I see…"

* * *

Once the situation is handled, Chloe insists that the two of them return Aubrey's pitch pipe in person.

"Brandon has been put on probation for two years and has been fined," Chloe informs Aubrey as she leans tiredly against her doorway.

Beca passes the pitch pipe to Aubrey, who takes it from her as gently as if she was handling a newborn baby.

"Thank you," Aubrey says to Chloe. "And you too, Officer Mitchell."

"Really sorry to ask this, but I need to use the bathroom," Chloe laughs. "For real this time," she adds for Beca's sake.

Once she's out of earshot, Aubrey turns back and fixes Beca with a piercing stare.

"What?" She's gotten her damn pitch pipe back, useless goddamn thing, what else does she want from Beca?

"Chloe's my best friend," Aubrey tells her (unnecessarily, as she already knows). "I know you don't think much of her. You probably don't think much of anyone."

"It's not personal," Beca drones, faking disinterest.

"But just remember, her weapon isn't strength or wit. It's her words."

Aubrey lets it sink in.

* * *

Back at the station, it's already spread around like wildfire that Beca and Chloe solved the Posen case (anything with the name Posen on it is obviously worth talking about).

Beca's whispering rapidly under her breath as she fills in paperwork (apparently being successful is tantamount to having vast amounts of forms to fill out). "Bear, Hawk, Tiger, Snake, Wolf."

"Sorry?" Chloe looks up.

Not realizing she'd been talking at all, Beca merely arches an eyebrow.

Out of nowhere, Luke suddenly accosts them, "There was no sign of a break in, so why'd you take the case?"

"You know why," Chloe replies, refusing to make eye contact with him.

"You're my only officer who follows instructions and rules down to the punctuation marks, Beale," Luke says. "I just don't understand."

"Friends are more important."

Beca doesn't really care, but she figures she should ask anyway. "Are you going to punish us?"

"No," he decides. "As long as you tell me how you figured it out."

Chloe and Beca exchange a quick glance at each other and answer simultaneously, "Tricks of the trade."

* * *

"Beale!" The Captain bellows. "Mitchell!" They turn to look at him questioningly. "My office, now."

Chloe bites her lip nervously but follows her into the office anyway. Captain Dunner shuts the door firmly.

"What you two did was questionable," the Captain starts.

"We solved it, didn't we?"

"But at what price?" He asks, his voice soft.

Beca doesn't know what to say to that, but Chloe jumps in, "It wasn't her fault, Captain. Aubrey's my friend, I took the case on because I wanted to help her. Officer Mitchell merely got dragged along."

She tries not to let her surprise show, but her eyebrows arch of their own accord.

Captain Dunner turns his back on them, "Mr. Posen donated a generous amount to our police association this afternoon."

What…?

"Thanks to you ladies, our division might just be out of debt," he continues. "We can afford better office supplies too, maybe even maintenance on our patrol cars."

"Oh."

"That's a good thing, isn't it?" Beca speaks up.

Turning around, the Captain has a grudging smile, "You took a risk and it might've paid off. Don't get used to breaking the rules."

"I wouldn't think of it," Beca says sarcastically.

"Doesn't mean I was wrong about you, Mitchell," he says pointedly, scowling suddenly. "Don't think I'll forget the promise you made me."

"Wouldn't dream of that either, Captain."

"That goes for you too, Beale."

Chloe nods, biting the inside of her cheek now.

* * *

"Do you want to go for a celebratory drink?"

A little surprised at the offer, Beca almost accepts on reflex, but catches herself. "I- uh- I can't."

"No worries," Chloe says with an easygoing smile. "Great work by the way. I couldn't have solved this without you."

"Yeah well, partnership and all," she doesn't really know how to respond and it's making her feel awkward as shit.

Thankfully, Chloe just laughs, "Yes. Well if you change your mind, we'll be at Barker's pub."

"We'll see," Beca responds cryptically.

* * *

Aubrey places her treasured pitch pipe back into her jewelry box and looks into the mirror, letting loose an exhale. She looks tired, she knows, as she examines the bags under her eyes. Even though he donated so much money to the police, Aubrey knows her father is displeased with the entire situation. Kicking up a huge fuss over such a small thing? He wants her to move to a safer place, too. If a thief could get in, then a rapist or a murderer or a kidnapper could too. She's old enough to make her own decisions now, but he'll never see it that way.

Her phone rings, snapping her out of her thoughts. It's a number she hasn't seen for quite some time (but one she has memorized still nonetheless). While she knows it's a bad idea, her thumb presses answer before she thinks about it really.

"_Let's go for dinner_."

Aubrey's always hated that about Stacie – no greeting, no pleasantries, no manners. "Hello to you too, Stacie."

"_Thought you'd be in a celebrating mood, Aubrey._" All the people Aubrey's dated before call her Bree (hell even the vast majority of her closest friends do too) but not Stacie, never Stacie. It's never anything shorter than Aubrey and she tries not to recall Stacie's reasoning ("I like knowing that it's all of you").

"You heard about the case, too?"

Stacie ignores her question (as always) and continues, "_I imagine you're sitting at home alone, dressed in those baggy grey sweatpants you like so much, and maybe a white or faint blue t-shirt. You're going to order some Chinese takeout, mostly because you know how much your daddy hates that, and you'll ask for the Chicken Lo Mein, but with more noodles than chicken. You'll read your fortune and analyze it too deeply. Then you'll probably watch reruns on HGTV until you fall asleep._"

While Chloe has always been her best friend (and the one that just understands people easily), no one _gets_ her like Stacie does.

"My t-shirt is pink," Aubrey retorts, not bothering to confirm that the rest is accurate.

"_White, blue, pink, it's all the same to me." _She swears she can _hear_ Stacie's grin over the phone. "_It all ends up on the floor anyway._"

"Is that why you're calling me? Is this a booty call?"

Stacie jokingly moans, "_Say booty call again."_

Aubrey sighs.

Perhaps realizing that she's not in the mood for that (yet), Stacie tries again, "_Let's go for dinner. You shouldn't let him get to you._"

Dinner with her ex. Terrible idea, really. But Aubrey's never been that good at saying no to Stacie, even though she's always been good at saying it to everyone else.

"Where should I meet you?"

* * *

Somehow Beca ends up at the pub anyway (and she'd rather not analyze it, even if she's bitten her nails down to jagged stubs). She's changed into casual attire: a loose grey shirt and jeans. When she enters, there's music pounding away, and it's enjoyable enough, even if she has to focus specifically on anything but the alcohol. Looking around, she finally sees the red hair she's been searching for.

"Hey there, stranger," Beca says amicably and as quickly as she can manage.

"Beca!" Chloe's whole face lights up. "Glad you could make it!"

"Thought I'd be your designated driver and all." She takes in Chloe's appearance, dressed down in a red halter top and jean shorts. It's a jarring sight to see her out of her work clothes.

"Thoughtful," Chloe muses. "And what's your ulterior motive?"

"No ulterior motive tonight." But Beca admits, "Although your wallet would be really easy to steal."

Chloe sticks her tongue out, hand curled around a bottle of Heineken. Although it's not really the alcohol itself that holds temptation for Beca, her eyes are still drawn to the sight. She thinks about it for a moment really, the self-destruction that's so close she can almost taste it.

Drawing away quickly, Beca flags the bartender down for a glass of water (he shoots her a sympathetic look). "How did you know Brandon's motives?"

"Is that why you came?" Chloe looks at her curiously. "To talk about work?"

"It's just been bothering me all day," the brunette confesses. "And then he started crying randomly. What did you say?"

"I told him people in love do crazy things," Chloe responds, taking a long swig from her bottle of beer. Beca doesn't know what to make of that, but hears the truth of her words. Indeed, she thinks, she wouldn't even be here if that wasn't true.

Crazy things, indeed.

* * *

Aubrey wakes just as the sun is rising, yellow rays peeking out, and her arm reaches out towards the side to find the other side of the bed cold. Sitting up slowly, the sheets fall away to reveal her topless form.

There's a note on her bedside table.

_~ S_

No words, just a signature.

* * *

_It's strange what desire will make (foolish) people do._

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading, I really do appreciate it! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter AU, so we'll see how it works out. Leave a review if it so suits you!**

**A few notes:**

**1. There are several small errors regarding police procedure, laws, and rankings. The majority of these have been made to fit the story.**

**2. I don't have any endgame ships in mind, but this story will focus primarily on Beca and Chloe's relationship (romantic or not).**

**3. There are a few similarities to Elementary, but hopefully I depart from the core ideas enough that it seems a bit more original ;)**

**4. Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Perfect (the universe or the characters), nor do I own the song Wicked Game (from which the beginning and ending lyrics and chapter title come from), same goes for The Mystery of You (from which the overall titles comes from).**

**5. Lastly, a HUGE thank you to Desi (lescousinsdangereux) for beta-ing and just being an awesome friend. And may I add, marry me!**

**Cheers.**


	2. it feels alright, but never complete

**2. It Feels Alright, But Never Complete (Without Joy)**

_On the rainy nights, even the coldest days,  
you're moments ago, but seconds away.  
The principal of nature, it's true, but it's a cruel world._

* * *

He's thinking about chords when it happens. Music chords, that is. Even as he serves table 4 their starting salads, he's really thinking about different ways to play a G Major chord on the guitar. As he makes his way to table 7 to take their order, he hums a song under his breath.

A loud bang suddenly echoes through the restaurant, and Jesse bends down, hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut on pure instinct. He hears the sound of glass shattering and tinkling along the tile floor. It's not until he opens his eyes a few seconds later that he sees red blossoming from his customer's shirt.

* * *

"_Officers Beale and Mitchell, do you copy_? _Over._"

Beca has no idea how she's supposed to answer, so she picks up the radio, and pressing the red button, responds, "Copy. Over?" It's just like she's seen on TV.

"_Calling all officers to location transmitted on display, over."_

Luckily Chloe snatches the radio from her and responds, "Wilco, out."

"Wait, what?" Beca asks as Chloe pulls on her wrist, leading her out of the station.

"Come on, slowpoke."

* * *

"So, we just stand here?" Beca looks around, leaning casually on the hood of the car.

"It's a blockade," Chloe says, one hand held up to shield from the too bright sun. "We're just making sure no unauthorized person goes through to the crime scene."

"Ugh, I'd rather be at the crime scene."

With a sharp laugh, Chloe tells her, "About everyone here probably thinks the same thing."

"And do you think that too?"

Chloe shrugs. "I'll do whatever they need me to do. That's my duty."

"Whatever, Princess Perfect."

* * *

They're not given any information about the case, much to Beca's displeasure, but are sent back to the station after a few hours (three hours, twenty-three minutes, and seven seconds to be exact). Later, as they enter the station, the TV in the corner of the lobby displays a reporter covering the story. Beca plops down on the couch, next to another officer, who shifts over imperceptibly to make room for her. On the other hand, Chloe doesn't bother, and heads straight to her desk.

"…_of Bryan Herrera, the spokesman for Naja, a company known for their specialty lotions. It has been confirmed that Mr. Herrera was shot-"_

Captain Dunner strolls in and switches the television off despite the immediate protests from the watching officers.

Looking them over, he says, "Get back to your desks, there's other investigations and cases that need your attention. We already have people working on the Herrera case." A few grumbles are heard, but Dunner silences them with a mean glare. "Go on!"

Beca crosses her arms, unimpressed, but heads back to her work station where Chloe is already hard at work, filling out some forms left over from the previous week. She watches as Chloe's now-familiar loopy handwriting fills the page. "What do you think of the Herrera case?"

The pen in Chloe's hand never stops and she takes a moment before looking up at Beca questioningly. "Hm?"

"The Herrera case," Beca repeats, clicking her pen repeatedly, her thumb moving rapidly. "The dude that got shot at Star Bistro."

Momentarily taking a reprieve from the paperwork, Chloe sets down her pen and looks at Beca blankly, "It's a good restaurant."

"Really," Beca deadpans, rolling her eyes.

"They serve the best steak," the redhead replies seriously. "Like, the best ever."

"No, I mean, who do you think killed Herrera?" She honestly can't believe she has to spell this out for Chloe.

Shrugging, Chloe says, "Not my case."

Beca emits a high-pitched gasp, mocking and insincere. "But it's for the good of the people!"

"And since when have you ever been interested in the 'good of the people'?" Chloe makes two quotation marks in the air.

"And what if there's a mass murderer out there, dropping people like-"

"I doubt it's a mass murderer, Beca," Chloe replies amusedly, eyes dropping back to the paperwork.

At this, Beca's fingers fumble with the pen and it drops to the floor with a clatter. "So you do have ideas about the case."

"It doesn't matter," Chloe turns her chair away from the brunette and towards the computer, typing Brandon's information in quickly.

Beca spins the chair back, and traps Chloe there with both hands on the armrests, "What if I told you I think I know who is involved, or at least, who might be able to know?"

"I would tell you that you should tell the detectives who are actually in charge of this case what you know," Chloe's eyes narrow. Great, she's back to being all about the rules.

"You're no fun," Beca sighs forlornly instead and reverts back to her default mode of bored. She begins to sort through the various papers on her desk, grumbling under her breath.

"Did you say something?"

"No?"

They continue working in silence.

* * *

And really, no one should expect Beca to back off a case this big. Crimes are her thing. It's like telling a bibliophile to not touch anything in a library.

She doesn't trust that Chloe will keep her mouth shut in regards to anything they might discover, so she decides to go it solo. After work, Beca changes and walks briskly to the small shack where the minor operations of Snake take place, flipping her hood over her head. The sun has completely set when she reaches her destination.

Grizzly lets her in after she knocks (elaborately, because to hell with the codes today) and she nods at him curtly. He mumbles something that she doesn't quite catch, his slight accent not helping either.

"Wanna get Bumper or Donald down here for me, big guy?"

He lumbers away, and Beca takes that to mean yes. As she waits for his return, she swivels around, examining the main room. The wood looks like it's rotting away, and the supporting beams (five of them, which should be comforting, but curiously isn't) seem less than stable. She suspects they'll be relocating any day now.

"Mitchell," Bumper's voice comes from behind her. He knows how much she hates being called by her surname.

"Bumper."

"If you keep coming down here, I'll think it's 'cause you're missing me," he says, his expression calculating.

"Not a chance," Beca replies stiffly, leaning against the nearby wall, causing the building to groan alarmingly.

"So you're down here for what…old times' sake?" He circles around her to the bench and sits, patting the seat beside him patronizingly. "Or perhaps, for more investigating?"

Beca's lips thin out, and Bumper has all the response he needs. Her foot takes to tapping against the base of the wall.

"But tell me one thing," he holds up a finger. "How are you going to explain where your information is coming from? And what are you going to do when you have to investigate Snake?"

"That's two things," she retorts smugly, the corners of her lips curling upwards.

"What can I say? Math was never my strong suit."

"You give me far too little credit," she finally pushes off the wall and settles down beside him, hesitantly. "But I suspect the Herrera murder will already bring the investigation to Snake."

"Bryan Herrera?"

"Let's not play dumb here."

Bumper shrugs, his mouth contorting. "I don't know anything about it."

"Star Bistro is our- your turf," she stumbles over the words.

He's amused by her slip-up, but lets it pass. "Not anymore. A lot of things happen in six months, Beca." Digging around in his pocket, Bumper fishes out a packet of cigarettes and nonchalantly offers her one. She waves a quick refusal that causes his eyebrows to fly up. "It's Volkov's terrority now."

"What happened?"

"If you're so interested, you should come back," he says. "Always need more women to pour coffee and make us sandwiches around here."

"I'd be alert for arsenic if I were you" says Beca snidely.

"You want to know about Herrera? Ask Volkov." He lights up, and then mocks, "Oh wait, I forgot, he'll most likely kill you on the spot."

"Thanks for your concern."

"Yeah, well," Bumper exhales, smoke filling the air. "Shitty thing you did to his daughter."

Of course he'd bring it up. She bites the tip of her thumb.

"Yeah. But I paid for it."

He tilts his head to the side, but doesn't disagree.

* * *

At approximately five minutes past noon, Chloe and Beca tag along with Detectives Moran and Paley to collect the evidence at Star Bistro. Detective Moran is a tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes, and he flips his hair to the side every four to seven seconds. His partner, Detective Paley, is a little shorter than him, with black hair and a mustache curling obscenely over his upper lip. Chloe directs Beca to the counter, where they scour for glass pieces.

It becomes evident within a few sentences that Moran and Paley are absolutely _useless_.

"Does this look like his hair?" Paley grunts.

Beca rolls her eyes; it's the wrong color. Chloe nudges her, with a disapproving frown.

"He was sitting here," Moran squats next to the booth, facing the table, and pats a hand onto his chest, "And he was shot in the front."

Honestly, Beca _tries_ not to listen to him blabber, but eavesdropping is sort of second nature to her.

"And the shattered window was behind him…" Moran points back and forth. "Hm, that's odd."

"Obviously, whatever shattered the window wasn't what killed him," Beca mutters under her breath, as Chloe shoots another glare.

"Did you say something?" Moran asks, turning to her, his brow furrowed.

"She said, the counters don't have anything on them that could be construed as evidence," Chloe interrupts her before she can repeat herself.

"Oh, well, you can leave us," he says, turning around, a clear dismissal.

Ready to give him a piece of her mind, Beca begins to charge forward, but Chloe's arm bars her stomach, preventing her from moving forward. The redhead is surprisingly strong, pulling Beca out of the restaurant easily, even though she digs her heels into the ground.

Once they're outside and the door slams shut, Beca turns on Chloe, "What the hell? Were you listening to him? Detective Moran? More like Detective _Moron_."

"No matter what you say, he won't listen to you," Chloe advises her, still as calm as ever.

"Jesus Christ," Beca fumes, "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Deep breaths."

"Shut up," Beca snaps on instinct, nearly regretting it when Chloe flinches. "God, that was the most ineffective, most useless, most _worthless_ person I have ever met."

Despite Beca's obvious foul mood, Chloe rubs soothing circles against her back, and although Beca can feel her fingers clenching erratically, on some level it's helping.

"I think you were right," Chloe whispers cautiously, "Maybe we will have to take this into our own hands."

Shocked, the brunette looks at her disbelievingly, not completely confident that her hearing is working properly.

"I assume you have a lead," she continues, waiting for Beca's verbal reaction.

"Yes," Beca nods dumbly. "But you'll have to investigate it without me."

* * *

Two favors in two days is not how Beca typically likes her odds with Bumper, but given the circumstances, she figures she has no other choice. She dials his number, letting it ring twice before hanging up, and redialing.

"_I think you've forgotten how our business works_," Bumper says, his voice filled with derision after she explains the delicate situation to him. "_It's give and take, not take and take and take. Besides, if I side with the cops and rat out the Volkovs, you know what will happen."_

"So the Volkovs _are_ involved in the murder," she surmises.

He laughs (like a bark), "_Please, we both know it's them. So, why should I arrange this for you? The way I see it, all I'll get for my trouble is a bullet in the back of my head._"

"Nah," she remarks, "It'll probably be in your chest if Herrera is anything to go off of."

"_Real convincing_."

"Volkovs would never target you, that'd be open warfare on Snake. And like you say, I'm with the cops now. Let's say you or one of your girls gets into a little trouble…"

There's a pause (of about four and a half seconds), and Beca knows she's won.

"_That's more like it, Mitchell._"

She sighs. "Don't call me that."

* * *

Donning a casual dress, sea blue and to the knee, Chloe waits in the lobby of Volkov Industry Headquarters, wobbling dangerously on her heels. A few minutes before the scheduled time, the secretary, Jessica, calls out, "Ms. Rose?"

She pivots carefully on the carpet (it smells suspiciously like lavender) and executes a small wave.

"Mr. Volkov will see you now," Jessica informs her, holding one arm out. "This way."

When they enter the main office, Jessica leaves, shutting the door behind her. Chloe clears her throat to draw the attention of the man at the desk. He looks up, his hair greying visibly (but not yet balding), and she notes that his eyes are a special shade of green, chartreuse perhaps.

"Ms. Rose, I take it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Call me Stefan." He gestures towards the two armchairs in front of his desk, "Please, have a seat."

"Thank you."

The pot of mints is pushed towards her. "How can I help you?"

She politely refuses and says, "I made an inquiry a couple of weeks ago about buying the Star Bistro, but never heard back. And this week…well, that terribly unfortunate accident." Chloe worries her lip purposefully, her tone light, as if the murder is simply a small mistake.

"I do not own the Star Bistro, Ms. Rose," Stefan holds out his hands as if to indicate that the matter is unrelated to him.

"That's quite odd," Chloe notes. "As I spoke to Sasha Malyshev and he told me he would redirect my inquiry to you."

Stefan's eyes narrow as he watches her expression carefully. "Mr. Malyshev perhaps meant to confuse you, as I hear he has trouble saying no to pretty women."

"How interesting," she continues, trying not to let any weakness show in her tone. "Both men I have questioned try and distance themselves from Star Bistro, as if then maybe I will forget that they are both likely linked to Bryan Herrera."

"Ms. Rose," Stefan says coolly. "If that is really your name, I seem to have underestimated you." He pauses, waiting for her reply, but she wisely keeps her mouth shut. "You're doing a dangerous thing here, playing with fire, I hope you're prepared for the consequences."

"I am not made of ice," Chloe replies, just as evenly. "But water. And water does not burn easily."

"What is it, exactly, that you want?"

"I want to know who murdered Mr. Herrera, and I want the murderer brought to justice. Then, I will want to buy Star Bistro." Her fingernails are digging into her knees viciously, but she steels herself to reveal nothing.

"You are an intriguing woman, Ms. Rose," Stefan decides, one hand reaching towards his file cabinet. Chloe stiffens, preparing for the worst, but he simply pulls out a manila folder and tosses it towards her. "There's fifty thousand dollars in that envelope."

"And you're proposing…?"

"Fifty thousand to realize that perhaps Star Bistro is not the ideal purchase you initially thought it to be," he replies smoothly. Ah bribery, just like Beca told her would happen. "If you still find the restaurant to your liking, perhaps your instinct to run just now was correct." And there's the threat.

"No need," she stands, smoothing her dress down. "I know you're not the murderer, so I will stop wasting your time. Thank you, Mr. Volkov."

"How do you know it's not me?" He stops her with one hand raised.

"Because if you had murdered him, you wouldn't have bribed and threatened me," Chloe tells him. "Too obvious."

"Then if I was the murderer, what would I have done instead?" He seems genuinely curious as to what her answer will be.

"I think you would've tried to misdirect me, or you would've killed me on the spot."

Stefan laughs, a hollow one, but it raises goose bumps along Chloe's arm anyway. "So you knew there was a possibility that you wouldn't make it out of here alive, and yet, here you are."

Swiftly, Chloe pulls up the right side of her dress, and fingers the trigger to the gun strapped around her thigh. "I'm not as helpless as you think."

Clearly a little surprised, he shrugs, "I could have you arrested for carrying that onto this property."

"But you won't," Chloe tells him confidently.

"I won't," he affirms, "Since you are obviously with the police."

It seems she's underestimated him as well.

"Then we have a mutual interest in this case, Mr. Volkov. We both wish to find the murderer, so I suggest you-"

"But you see, my people will find him before you do," he says. "And when we find him, we will punish him with our law. I tell you this because you already know it."

Chloe chuckles. "We'll see. Don't be so confident that you'll get to the killer first. Especially since you have mistaken her for a man."

* * *

"The Volkovs don't know who the murderer is, but I'm fairly sure Herrera was on their side," Chloe drops down on Beca's sofa with a hard exhale. "These heels are killing me."

Taking in her partner's glamorous appearance, Beca comments, "That dress suits you."

"Thanks," Chloe says, a little taken aback by the sudden compliment. She scrutinizes Beca closely, attempting to figure out what she's after exactly.

"The Volkovs would be stupid to take out an enemy in such a public matter, especially on their own turf," Beca agrees with her assessment, completely oblivious to Chloe's examining gaze. "So it could be that someone's trying to frame them, or just a regular murder, the fact that it took place in their restaurant is just a slap in the face, or…?"

It appears that perhaps Beca has no ulterior motive here. Chloe files away this memory under "free once in a lifetime compliment from Beca Mitchell".

"Or it's all completely unrelated," Chloe offers, redirecting her attention to the case. "But Stefan seemed bent on getting the murderer before us, so I'm thinking it's from a rival organization."

"Well the Volkov family has had a sort of cold war, if you will, with Havek."

"Havek?"

She's not sure how much she can reveal to Chloe. "It's a low tier crime organization. They usually provide monitoring services and technology, which is just a nice way of saying they spy on people. You've never heard of it?"

"Never heard of it. Organized crimes are usually dealt with by senior officers." While Chloe is obviously curious, she doesn't press Beca for more information. "So they don't typically murder people?"

"No," Beca says, biting her fingernail. "What did Volkov say _exactly_ when he said they wanted to find the murderer first?"

"He said he was only telling me because I already knew, and that when they found the killer, they'd punish him with their own law, and-"

"Their own law?"

"Yeah," Chloe confirms.

"I think maybe…the killer _is _a Volkov," Beca taps her fingers along the edge of the table. "Gone rogue."

"A Volkova even, perhaps."

Beca looks up, "What makes you say that?"

With a shrug, Chloe responds, "Just a hunch."

"Where do we go from here? We can't just go around questioning various Volkovs, that'd be too suspicious."

The redhead tosses a file at her. "Autopsy showed Mr. Herrera was killed in close range."

Beca pulls out the evidence, "Interesting, there's threads of cloth on the bullet, threads that don't match Herrera's coat."

"I think we can start by asking the waiters and waitresses," says Chloe. "I have the shortened interview notes on some of them already."

"How did you get this stuff?"

There's a mischievous twinkle in Chloe's eyes that astonishes Beca, "You're not the only one who does slight of hand tricks."

Beca gapes, before smirking, "I'm proud."

* * *

"Mr. Swanson?"

The young man with short brown hair looks up as he wipes the table, "Just Jesse, m'am."

"I'm Officer Beale, and this is my partner Officer Mitchell," she introduces, shaking his hand firmly. He straightens his collar out and nods in acknowledgement. "We have a few questions for you if you don't mind."

"I already answered that other Detective's questions," Jesse says, slinging the towel over his shoulder. "Detective Moran, I think."

"We just have a few more," Beca interjects. "A bit more detailed."

"Yeah, sure, go for it," he replies, crossing his arms, looking her over. Chloe notices the way his eyes linger on her shoes and ear spikes particularly.

"Did you see anyone wearing a big coat?"

Jesse raises an eyebrow, "Like a suspicious person? Because Detective Moran asked me that already."

"No, just someone with a big coat, or maybe a puffy skirt?"

"Table 6 had a gentleman that I was serving, and he had a brown overcoat and black hat," Jesse recalls.

"Did you happen to see where he was when the shooting happened?" Beca scribbles his answers down hurriedly.

"It all was so fast," he grimaces, probably remembering the blood. "I just knew that one moment I was on my way to that booth," he points, "And the next there's a loud bang, I look up and the man is clutching his chest, his blood is like overflowing. Then there's lots of screaming and the glass shatters."

"Wait," Chloe interrupts, "The window shattered after he was shot?"

"I don't know, I heard the bang first and then realized there was glass flying everywhere," Jesse says, his face looking a little pale. "Like I said, everything happened so fast."

"The man in the overcoat," Beca redirects, "Do you know his name?"

"I think we still have his receipt."

"Could you give us a copy?" Chloe requests.

"Sure thing."

Beca takes a step closer to him, one arm on his shoulder, her head barely reaching that height anyway. "Are you okay? You look a little shaken."

Perhaps it's because Chloe's never seen Beca look so concerned, but her brow furrows immediately. It seems a little odd that the brunette starts caring about others now.

"Just can't get Mr. Herrera's expression out of my face," Jesse admits, biting the inside of his cheek.

She nods understandingly, and tells him, "It's gonna be okay, dude."

* * *

Back in the patrol car, Beca tosses something square shaped into Chloe's lap. Chloe picks up the wallet questioningly.

"The waiter's," Beca says as explanation, her pinky drumming on the radio panel. "He seemed a bit off to me, so I just wanted to see if he was hiding anything. All the people who work directly for the Volkovs have a patch with the insignia of a wolf on it." Chloe opens her mouth, no doubt to protest the snatching of the wallet, but Beca merely interjects, "I'll return it to him. We have to cover our bases. If he's with the Volkovs, then we'd be unwise to follow the trail he's set for us."

Fine. Chloe empties the contents of the wallet onto her lap. Library card, Blockbuster card, Walgreen's, coupons for the grocery store, a few dollars, driver's license, insurance card, debit card, and on and on.

"I don't think he's affiliated with the Volkovs," Chloe finally says.

"Looks that way," Beca says, a little disappointed. "Let me go return this to him now."

When she's out of earshot, Chloe laughs a little. Of course. Of course Beca would feign sympathy to steal something.

* * *

When Beca returns, Chloe pulls out the copy of the receipt Jesse offered over and searches the name on it. Pulling up records from the database they're able to find his address.

"That's Kevin McHollow's house," Beca points to the right as they arrive. "It looks kind of deserted." The five windows (something that reassures Beca that they're on the right track) of the white bungalow are all shut, and it's completely dark.

"Come on, then," Chloe steps out of the car with an air of false bravery.

"By all means, just charge in," Beca mutters under her breath.

The doorbell echoes clearly throughout the house. No answer. Peculiar, Beca thinks, scrunching her nose.

After the fourth attempt, Beca suggests, "Maybe he's not home."

"He's at home," Chloe insists. "His car is still in the garage, and his bike is locked to the fence. If he were out walking, he would've left his porch light on, so he could see the keyhole when he returned."

Beca opens her mouth, but finding nothing to retort, she closes it again.

"I think he's dead," Chloe whispers, her tone sad.

"Well," Beca decides, "If he's dead, then I guess he won't mind me picking his lock." She squats down and does just that.

Chloe turns and blocks Beca from the street view with her body. "I hate it when you do that."

"When I show off, or when I show off my blatant disregard for the law?"

"Both."

The pins click and Beca shrugs, "I can live with that."

Stepping in, Chloe feels along the wall until her fingers hit the light switch. The moment the apartment fills with light, Beca grimaces.

"I hate it when you're right."

Kevin McHollow, 5'9 with dark chestnut hair, lies prone on the floor, his eyes staring off into the distance. His blue plaid shirt is stained with flecks of white and a light liquid, his top button is open, revealing a black vest underneath. But he is unquestionably dead.

* * *

"So how shall we explain this to the Lieutenant and to the Captain?" Beca slams the door shut hurriedly with her elbow.

"Only thing I can think is that…we don't," the redhead decides, her eyebrows drawing down in concentration. Beca decides she likes how Chloe looks when she's focused (sharp eyes, like a hawk). "If this is the guy who killed Herrera, then whoever killed McHollow thinks she's gotten away with it."

"I'll see if I can find his overcoat, why don't you see if you can tell what killed him?"

"We shouldn't tamper with evidence," Chloe says, her voice suddenly small, her intent mask falling away.

For fuck's sake. Beca sighs. "If we hand this over to the Captain, he'll send Moran and Paley to investigate this, and we both know that we can do more with this evidence than they can. Do you want to find McHollow's killer, and the story behind all of this?"

"Is that how you see crimes?" Chloe's eyes shine with unhidden interest. "As stories?"

"They're mysteries, aren't they?" She fiddles with the zipper of her jacket nervously. "Most people, when they see a blood stain on the floor, they think, oh god, how terrible. When I see a blood stain, I think of all the possibilities, all the ways it could've gone down, all the reasons why." Beca pauses. "I see Kevin McHollow here, for example, and think he pissed someone off, and I want to know why."

For a moment, she thinks Chloe is going to object to her mindset.

"I'll check the kitchen," Chloe says, nodding, and walks briskly past Beca.

* * *

Walking into the living room, the first thing Beca sees is the overcoat that's been thrown over the sofa carelessly. She picks it up, fingers dragging along the inside until she finds the hole she's been looking for. It's about the right size, and still coated with a black powder. Yep, he's the one who murdered Bryan Herrera. Shifting the jacket in her arms, Beca realizes there's another hole on the other side.

She calls out for her partner as she makes her way back to the entrance of the bungalow.

"Yes?"

"I've found his coat which he must've used to conceal the gun, and there's a hole in the pocket of the right side, where he must've shot Herrera through it. Weirdest thing is there's another hole too."

Chloe turns the corner, her lips pale, and expression a tiny bit nauseous, "Well, I figured out what killed McHollow."

"Yeah?"

"He vomited in the sink," Chloe informs her, grimacing at the remembrance of the stench. "And there's a bottle of wine on the counter that smells a bit like almonds. I tasted a little, I'm pretty sure it's cyanide."

"Don't you typically lose control of your bowel functions when poisoned by cyanide?" She remembers quite vividly a man who died of cyanide poisoning. Not a pleasant sight or smell.

"I'm thinking he realized what it was after a few gulps and tried to force it out," Chloe thinks aloud. "The cabinets are clawed open in various angles, showing he was trying to stop his flailing limbs. The vomit must've burned through his esophagus, or caused an airway obstruction. We'd need an autopsy to find out."

"We shouldn't stay here too long," Beca decides, observing her uneasy expression. "Let's meet up tomorrow and try to figure out how McHollow and Herrera are linked."

"Okay," Chloe looks at her thankfully. "That sounds good."

The ride to Beca's apartment is quiet save for the brunette's occasional murmur of, "Bear, Hawk, Tiger, Snake, Wolf."

Although Chloe wonders exactly what importance those words hold to Beca, she wisely doesn't ask.

* * *

That night is a sleepless one for Beca; she feels so close to the answers that she knows she can't stop her search. A quick Google search identifies Kevin McHollow as an employee of Naja, and most fascinatingly, identifies him as a former candidate for the spokesman position until Bryan Herrera was imported from Argentina specifically for the job. Great, now she has a vague motive. But why would McHollow wait three years to strike?

Searching through various news archives yields no additional information, something that she finds quite frustrating. A long overdue visit to Naja is in order, she thinks. Pulling up all articles about Naja from the past six months, Beca begins to read.

Absentmindedly, she realizes the sun is rising and she's gone the entire night without a break. Falling into bed thankfully, Beca is asleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

* * *

_Ding!_

Urgh.

_Ding!_

What the fuck is that sound?

_Ding! Ding! Ding!_

Five rings within the span of a few seconds. Beca rises from the bed, the springs creaking, and stretches, her muscles screaming in protest. "Yeah, I'm coming!" She yells at the door.

Swinging open, the door reveals Chloe standing outside, unimpressed.

"You forgot."

* * *

Dying of starvation isn't how Beca imagines she wants to leave the world, so she convinces Chloe to accompany her to a local bakery. They walk, so as to draw less attention to themselves (they are out of uniform after all). Beca fills her in on the details on the way there, also throwing in some personal theories of hers regarding the motives of McHollow.

"What do you think?"

Chloe looks at her, entertained, "Since when do you care what I think?"

"Since your hunch of Brandon Childs turned out to be astonishingly accurate," Beca replies without missing a beat. "You're more useful than the majority of the people at the station, even if you don't seem it."

"Thanks," Chloe replies dryly at her backhanded compliment.

"What do you think were his motives?"

"Based on what we know, I think there's something more personal to this," Chloe muses, her mouth quirking to the side (something Beca now understands is an indicator of deep thinking on Chloe's part). "It's not just about the position. He killed this man in public, McHollow _wanted_ people to remember this, or wanted it to hurt someone."

"Okay," Beca nods. "I get that. But who could he hurt? Herrera wasn't married, has no family in the United States, and according to his maid, had no close friends."

"That's pretty sad if you think about it," Chloe muses. "Being all alone in a foreign country, knowing no one, having no ties."

"It's the same with McHollow, he doesn't seem to have any close friends or family in the area."

At that moment, Chloe stops abruptly.

"Chloe?"

"Isn't that Mr. Swanson?"

Beca follows her line of sight to the entrance of the subway. Lo and behold, it is the waiter dude, strumming away on his guitar and singing. While Beca tries to steer Chloe in the opposite direction, the redhead is especially determined to approach Jesse.

"No," Beca pleads. "Why? There's no reason to. Chloe. Chloe? Chloe!"

Still, she ignores Beca and drops a dollar into Jesse's opened guitar case. He smiles and nods at her, "Thank you, Officer Beale."

"I thought you were a waiter," she says.

"I am, I just play on my days off." He admits bashfully, "I'm trying to start a band actually."

"That's really cool," Chloe gushes, and Beca nearly rolls her eyes at how enthusiastic her partner actually sounds. "Would you maybe want to get coffee with us right now?"

Of course he would.

* * *

"So did you always want to become a police officer?"

Sipping her hot cocoa, Chloe nods, "Since I was nine."

Feigning disinterest is what Beca is best at, so she plays with the stirring stick as she waits for Chloe's reasoning. They really need to get back to the case, but for some reason Chloe just isn't budging despite her obvious cues.

"Oh, any particular reason why?" Jesse asks, his arm resting casually on the table, a little too close for Beca's taste.

"Not really," Chloe replies evenly, but Beca notices that she plays with her hair as she says that. "I just wanted a chance to be a superhero I guess."

"That's cute," Jesse grins. "And how about you, Beca?"

"I never thought about it until recently," Beca replies, "When my dad decided it would be a great way for me to pay penance to society."

"Your dad?"

"Warren Mitchell," she says, her expression still cool.

"The Senator?"

She nods in confirmation.

"That must've been rough," Jesse concedes to her surprise.

"Yeah, it was okay," she falters a tiny bit.

Suddenly, Chloe's phone sounds, the familiar tune of Titanium playing as her ringtone. Beca raises an eyebrow, silently approving of her taste in music. Chloe swears quietly as she picks up, making an apologetic face at her two companions.

"Hello?"

Jesse and Beca watch her talk, momentarily silent.

"Right now?" Chloe groans. "Okay, okay. I'll be there. Okay." Turning back to the two of them, Chloe apologizes, her fingers twirling in a strand of hair, "I have to go, family emergency. Keep her company for me, okay? Talk to you later, Beca." And then she's gone before Beca can object to her decision-making.

"Wait-"

Chloe doesn't turn back. Great. Now she's alone with Jesse.

"So, do you like music?" He asks her.

She mumbles, "Yeah, I do."

"There's a pop-rock band playing in town this afternoon, would you maybe want to accompany me?" His eyes are shining brightly, as if hopeful. "No pressure, just sucks to go to concerts alone."

Really, how can she refuse him after a pathetic statement like that?

* * *

Meanwhile, Chloe rushes out of the coffee shop and flags down a taxi. Settling into the back seat, she asks, "Can you take me to this address?"

The taxi driver nods, "Of course."

She steps out of the taxi and out towards the front of Naja Headquarters. It's a tall building, massive and looming overhead.

"Excuse me, may I speak to John Menon?" She requests of the secretary in the front office, as she flashes her badge. "I'm with the police department."

"Let me see if he's busy," the secretary, Marsha, complies. "Hello, Sir? There's an Officer Beale down here who wishes to speak with you." After a slight pause, "Of course, Sir, right away." Hanging up, Marsha points towards the elevators, "His office is on the sixteenth floor, last door on your left."

"Thanks," Chloe smiles widely.

Following the secretary's directions, she reaches the last office, the plaque clearly introducing Operating Chairman John Menon. She knocks on the open door to give fair warning and steps into the vast area of his office.

"Mr. Menon," she greets, shaking his outstretched hand.

"A pleasure, Officer Beale," he nods. She takes in his appearance, slightly curled brown hair, amused grey eyes, and pleasant demeanor. "Please, sit down. I assume you're here about Bryan."

"Yes, I just have a few additional questions."

"Ask away," he invites.

"How many female employees do you have at this company?"

He chortles, "Not exactly what I expected, but about 34% of our employees are women, and around seven women worked closely with Mr. Herrera."

"How about women working with Kevin McHollow?"

"Kevin? What does he have to do with all this?" Mr. Menon asks.

"We suspect he is tied to the case, but cannot release any specific information at this time," Chloe explains, raking her fingers through her hair.

"Well, Miranda is his assistant, and Sydney is his marketing advisor," he lists off. "I think that's about it."

"Thank you, Mr. Menon, you've been extremely helpful. Is it possible I could spend maybe five or six minutes with Miranda and Sydney?"

"Of course," he nods, "We want to find Mr. Herrera's killer as much as you do, maybe even more."

She doubts it's more.

* * *

"So this band has been my favorite for about seven years," Jesse yells over the pandemonium of the crowd. "They formed in Vancouver and relocated to Chicago just recently!"

Grudgingly, Beca admits that he also has good taste in music; the clanging bass line and high guitar riffs are matching perfectly with the rhythm of the drums and the singer's hoarse voice. Jesse sings along with the chorus, as do the majority of the people in the crowd. Though she'd really rather be getting back to the Herrera-McHollow case, Beca can't deny how much she enjoys the music scene, or how much she enjoys feeling invisible and being part of a crowd (a mob, the more cynical part of her claims).

When that particular song ends, the crowd whistles and cheers wildly, the surrounding adrenaline sweeping around so deadly, that Beca finds herself clapping too.

"They're good, right?" He's yelling over everyone and into her ear.

Beca unintentionally laughs. "Yeah, okay."

Right at that moment, the guitarist begins an intricate solo that causes her jaw to drop. And she suddenly forgets about murder and crimes and the Volkovs and everything. All that exists in that one moment is the music.

* * *

The instant that Chloe's eyes fall on Sydney, she knows she's onto something. Quickly excusing herself from the conversation with Miranda, she approaches Sydney, a tall and beautiful woman with extremely pale skin.

"Ms. Johnson, hi, I'm Officer Beale, I have a few questions for you."

Their eyes meet, and Sydney's brown ones quiver a little, "Nice to meet you, how can I help?"

"I understand you're Mr. McHollow's marketing advisor."

That one statement causes Sydney's right hand to fly up to the back of her head, "Yes, but I haven't seen him in a few days."

Suspicious. Too suspicious.

"How long have you and Mr. McHollow been seeing each other?" It's just a hunch, but it's proven correct, when Sydney's eyes widen.

"Are you-"

It all clicks suddenly. "And how long had you been cheating on him with Mr. Herrera?"

Sydney's surprise drops like dead weight, and calculatingly, she confesses, "From mid –March until he was murdered."

"And where were you at 1 P.M. on Thursday?"

"On the roof of Chaplin Church," she replies immediately. "With a .308 rifle aimed at Kevin's head."

"I see," Chloe drawls. The whole thing is just so off. Why is Sydney telling her this?

Sydney clears it up with a quiet whisper, "The Volkovs arrived before you did."

"What did they say?"

The woman ignores Chloe and continues, "If you can guarantee that I'll be sent to Bayside Prison, I'll go to the station and confess my crimes."

"I can't guarantee it," Chloe admits, "But you'll be safer at the station than you are here."

Sydney's eyes flicker downwards, "That's good enough for me, I suppose."

* * *

As Beca and Jesse are getting refreshments, her phone vibrates insistently against her thigh.

"Hold on," she lifts a finger, and hands Jesse her cup of soda. "Hello?"

"_Beca, this is Chloe._"

"What's up?" She tries to contain her laughter as Jesse nearly collides with a woman pushing a stroller. Suddenly her face shuts down, "What?"

"_Come down to the station, I'll explain everything here._"

"Sorry, dude," Beca runs up to Jesse. "Duty calls."

He shrugs, "I totally understand. I hope you had fun at least."

"Surprisingly yes," Beca calls as she walks away, backwards. "Yes, I did."

* * *

"Okay, so what exactly happened, Beale?" Beca tosses her jacket across the desk, sending a few loose papers flying.

"I thought it had to do with the Volkovs," Chloe groans, covering her face in her hands. "And I knew you wouldn't want me to go alone, so I lied about the family emergency."

"I know," Beca reveals. "You play with your hair when you lie."

"Oh."

Twirling a pen between her fingers, Beca continues, "You could've just said told me, you know."

"I'm sorry," Chloe says sincerely, biting her lip. "I should've trusted you."

The brunette's thumb bounces erratically against the tip of the pen, "Water under the bridge." She half means it. After all, she can only kind of blame her partner for trying to protect her, no matter how misguided those attempts are.

"So, fill me in."

"They won't let me watch the interrogation," Chloe glowers. "And I'm pretty sure Captain Dunner is going to skin me alive later."

"Nevertheless," Beca leans against the edge of the desk, pushing it back against the wall slightly. "Tell me what you think happened and what you think will happen."

"I don't know, just something about how distant and detached the killings were, even though they were obviously personal, led me to believe it was a woman who orchestrated the entire thing. The shattered glass confused me at first, but it's obvious now that they weren't aiming for Herrera, but McHollow. He was wearing a vest, a bulletproof one I'm sure."

Beca listens in rapt concentration, trying to concoct the scene in her imagination.

"A sniper must've hit him from across the street, because there were no other bullets found at the crime scene. It must've lifted him off his feet and down onto the floor, so no one even suspected him of anything. That would explain the second hole. But the thing is, the sniper knew he had gone there to kill Herrera. She had to. And so given the assumption that the killer was a woman, and that McHollow killed Herrera for personal reasons, it was only a small leap for me to assume she had been seeing both men."

"Why would she kill McHollow and let him kill Herrera then?"

"I couldn't figure that out either at first," Chloe looks at her carefully. "You mutter things under your breath a lot, did you know that, Beca?"

Raising an eyebrow, Beca replies, "I didn't realize this had become a criticism of me."

"No," Chloe shakes her head. "Not like that. You like to repeat stuff over and over, usually five times. Most people wouldn't pay too much attention to it, but you sit right across from me all day long."

Beca freezes.

"You kept mumbling, 'Bear, Hawk, Tiger, Snake, Wolf. Bear, Hawk, Tiger, Snake, Wolf.'"

Clenching her fingers does nothing to alleviate the sudden pressure Beca feels against her chest. "Chloe, it's not-"

"And I thought it was just another quirk of yours," Chloe says, scrunching her mouth. "But then I remembered Volkov comes from the Russian word, volk, which means wolf."

Beca looks around in alarm, before stepping closer to Chloe and whispering, "Don't talk about it so loudly."

"And Havek, which you mentioned the other day, is an old English word for hawk. So you were reciting the names of crime organizations."

The brunette looks up at her, a little afraid. "Are you going to arrest me?"

Chloe snorts. "That was honestly the last thing on my mind."

"Then why bring this up?"

"Because Naja is a type of poisonous snake."

"Naja isn't owned by Snake though," Beca shoots quick glances around the room to make sure they're not being eavesdropped on. "What use would they have for lotions?"

"It would make sense though," Chloe shrugs. "Herrera worked for the Volkovs and was spying on the people in Naja. Sydney would've been ordered by Snake to kill him, but she had McHollow do it instead. And just to cover her tracks, she shot him too."

"That's far-fetched, Chloe," Beca says (even though it sounds exactly like a Snake operation). "That would mean Sydney was working for Snake."

"Jesse said he only heard one shot, and no one at the Church heard anything either," Chloe recounts. "So I'm thinking Sydney used a rifle silencer, but you can't just buy them, that's illegal for civilians. She must've obtained it illegally, and that would mean she was working with or for someone."

"Why would they let her get caught then?"

"I was kind of hoping you could tell me that."

At that moment, Captain Dunner strides into the room (Chloe and Beca halt their conversation) and looks at the two of them through narrowed eyes. "I don't know what to say to you girls," he starts.

"You could start off as calling us women," Beca replies sarcastically.

"You've disobeyed orders again," Captain Dunner continues. "Even after the warning last week."

"We also discovered who killed Herrera and McHollow," she points out.

"You're both suspended for two weeks," he raises his voice, causing heads to turn. Then quietly, he tells them, "Upon your return you'll be promoted to Detectives, since it seems you're the only two people in this entire hellhole who know what they're doing."

Chloe exchanges a surprised look with Beca before turning back to the Captain, "Sorry for causing trouble, Captain."

"Yeah well," he suppresses a smile and replies gruffly, "I see it's becoming a habit."

* * *

They leave the station in high spirits despite the suspension, laughing a little at how the events have unfolded. But as they turn the corner towards Chloe's patrol car, Beca catches sight of someone familiar. She stops in her tracks and stares at an Asian woman with an emotionless face.

"Something wrong, Beca?"

The Asian woman stares at her back, unflinchingly, before walking away.

"I don't think Sydney was the killer after all," Beca blurts, internally frustrated with how stupid she's been this entire time.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Just forget it," she fiddles with her collar uncomfortably. "You're better off not knowing."

Chloe's forehead creases as she accosts Beca, "We're partners, Beca. In this together and all that."

"Didn't stop you from ditching me with the waiter earlier," Beca retorts, still pulling at her collar.

"Yeah, because I wanted to protect you," the redhead shakes her head angrily. "Listen, I know you have a shady past and that you still have connections with these criminal organizations. But I _trust_ you enough to not panic and flip out." There it is, trust. Beca is liking the word less and less. "I thought we had something good going on here," Chloe finishes, slightly disappointed.

"We work pretty well together," Beca admits with a sharp tilt of her head. "I guess."

"So tell me then, Beca. Just, please."

Beca's lips ache for a cigarette for some odd reason, but she wearily gives in. Jabbing her thumb in the direction that the Asian woman had left, she says, "That woman is one of Snake's most highly regarded assassins. She didn't show up here by accident."

"What are you saying?"

She watches as Kimmy Jin takes her eighty-ninth step away from them before answering, "Sydney took the fall. It was planned that she would, so the case would be closed."

Chloe shoves a hand into her pocket, shivering slightly, "But why would she be willing to do that for Snake?"

"Why does anyone join them?" Beca asks rhetorically. "They find lonely people, people like Herrera and McHollow who have nothing in their lives, and they give them a purpose." She dimly remembers something, a dull glimmer of memory, "We all have something we want. Snake was able to provide whatever that was to Sydney, and this is the price she paid for it."

The ride home is in silence again.

* * *

Jesse receives a text at about midnight.

_I have next week off. Let's go see the Killers play at the Cultural Center downtown._

He smiles, recalling Beca's alive expression as she listened to the music. He can't deny how that made him feel: coiled too tightly and lips itching to feel hers. It's crazy, but he can't stop thinking about her, not after that concert.

Just as he's texting back in the affirmative, his phone jangles notifying him of an incoming call. Private caller. Hm, who could it be?

"Hello?"

"_Mr. Swanson, correct?_"

"Who is this?" It doesn't sound like anyone he knows.

"_We're looking for a guitar player for an up and coming band_," the person says (a female, he notes). "_Would you have any interest in auditioning?_"

"What? Yeah, definitely!" His voice cracks from excitement, and if this wasn't such a great opportunity he'd be embarrassed.

"_Great. The producer's office is on 5__th__ Street, largest building there, Cobra Entertainment._"

* * *

_It's a cruel cruel world to face on your own._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading. A special thank you to all those that followed/favorited and reviewed. You're all rock stars. Leave a review if you're in the mood and see you next week or so!**

**Quick notes:**

**1. ****Disclaimer: I do not own Pitch Perfect (the universe or the characters), nor do I own the song Heavy Cross (from which the beginning and ending lyrics and chapter title come from), same goes for The Mystery of You (from which the overall title comes from).**

******2. We have guests over, so I've been unable to write lately. Apologies.**

******3. Massive massive thank you to Desi (lescousinsdangereux) for beta-ing. If I had any cookies, they would be all yours. **

******Cheers.**


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